The Way of the Power (12 page)

Fawbry raised his hand. “Practical question — how are we going to get there?”

Malja looked up with a touch of surprise. Her vow belonged to her alone. She had not intended to speak for the others. Her surprise inflated into pride as she saw the faces of all around her. Tommy, Fawbry, and Hirasa never questioned their involvement. Only Lynoya looked like she had no interest in helping out, and Malja cast no blame for that. The poor girl was far out of her depths.

Answering Fawbry’s question, Tommy jumped to his feet, made a fist, and bumped his chest twice.

“No,” Malja said before anybody else had even translated the gesture.

Tommy pointed at everybody and then himself.

Unable to control his eagerness, Stray said, “Can he really get us home? You, Tommy, can you create a magic door — a portal — to take us back to Reo-Koll?”

Malja’s glare tempered Tommy’s enthusiastic nod. “In order for this to work, it requires both of us. Tommy creates the portal, but you need me to pass through. That is, if you want to do so without being incinerated. I can only ferry two people at a time and one of them has to be Tommy, otherwise, we can’t get back.”

“That’s not true.” Fawbry shared the growing excitement of the men, and Malja had no choice but to wonder how much of their behavior had been influenced by the Artisoll’s magic. “When we fought in Penmarvia, Tommy sent you to another world and brought you back. But he never left our world. He could open a portal to Reo-Koll and you could take two people through without a problem. Tommy can probably keep the portal open long enough for you to come back and get another two.”

Stray said, “I don’t think she plans for all of us to go. Not yet.”

Like a frightened pup, Fawbry said, “But we have to go. The Artisoll needs us.”

Malja scoffed. “The Artisoll needs a one-handed man with head injuries? What she needs is to be returned so she can do this Rising thing. Correct?” All nodded as if scolded by their mother. “We don’t know what the world looks like now that we’ve taken the Artisoll away. It’s only been a few days but a lot could have changed. People tend to panic when abrupt changes happen.”

“So,” Stray said, the warrior in him seeing Malja’s intentions, “you want to take just me.”

“You, me, and Tommy. We go to Reo-Koll and appraise the situation. And if Tommy can get us close enough to Abrazkia’s house —”

Tommy clapped his hands and glowered — partly serious, partly sarcastic.

“Fine. Since we all
know
Tommy can get us close enough to Abrazkia’s house, then we can do something that I think is in our best interest, though it’ll seem a bit odd. I think the three of us should sneak in and find Harskill. Bring him back with us.”

Fawbry’s jaw dropped wide open. “Odd? That’s crazy. Why would we want that bastard around here? All he ever does is cause us trouble and make passes at you.”

“We want him because we need all the allies we can get, and in this instance, I believe he is our ally. Not because he cares about helping us but because his desires are achieved by the same thing we seek out — the Artisoll’s Rising.”

“Now you suddenly know his desires in all this?”

“I have a strong suspicion. At the very least, we can agree that he wants to see her go through the Rising, otherwise, why would he do any of this? You said it yourself — Harskill planned for me to be there on Reo-Koll, that it couldn’t be a coincidence.”

“But that doesn’t mean —”

“It means if he knows me well enough to guess that I would save the Artisoll during that battle, then he knows I’ll do everything I can to get her to the Rising.”

“But what could he possibly —”

“We can ask him the rest when we get him here.”

“Why do you want to bring him —”

“He can create a portal as well. With Harskill helping us, Tommy won’t have to cast as much magic. We can easily get all of you that want to go to Reo-Koll over there. And injured or not, we’ll probably need you all if we’re going to succeed. Any other questions?”

Fawbry’s lips tightened. “Are you going to ever let me finish a question?”

“I just did.” Malja waited but Fawbry said no more. “Good. Then we have a plan.”

Nobody argued.

Stray asked, “When do we go?”

“Now.”

“Now?” Fawbry sputtered.

“Should we wait around for another assault on this house?” To Tommy, she said, “Get to work. Stray, go with him. He’ll need you to figure out where we’re going.”

Tommy leaned toward the Artisoll and kissed her on the forehead. As he pulled back, she reached for the back of his neck and drew him into a firm kiss on her mouth. They closed their eyes as the kiss continued.

Malja and Stray watched on in shock. When the kiss ended, Tommy walked into the adjacent room.

Stray bowed before the Artisoll. “I don’t like leaving you here, but I’ve come to think that Malja is one we can trust. And I don’t see another way to help you. I vow to return. You have nothing to fear.”

The Artisoll smiled and ran her index finger along the edges of his mustache. He chuckled, bowed again, and followed Tommy.

Malja put pressure on Fawbry’s shoulder until he eased back on the couch. “You rest. Get your body ready for action later. Hirasa — you’re the one who has to protect the Artisoll, Fawbry, and Lynoya. I’m counting on you.”

Though she tried to hide her emotions, Hirasa’s mixture of pride and fear played out on her face unhampered. “I’ll do my best. But if another ten of those things come —”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll keep them too busy to bother.” But even as Malja spoke, she worried about the same thing. Except she saw no other way. She needed Tommy for the portals, and she needed Stray to guide her quickly through the land. Besides, Stray appeared to be okay with the plan, so he must have confidence in Hirasa as well.

“We’ll be as fast as we can,” Malja said.

Hirasa swallowed hard. “We’ll be fine.”

Malja wanted to leave it at that, but she spoke anyway. “If a large number do come after you, don’t try to fight them off. Run. Protect the Artisoll and run.”

Before Hirasa could respond, Malja gave a sturdy nod and turned away. As she entered the next room, Tommy had already begun work on the portal spell while Stray appeared to be mentally preparing for a fight. It felt good to see that — a fellow, capable warrior.

Malja closed her eyes, calmed her thoughts, and did the same. Soon enough, Tommy would be ready and they would go. But one thought plagued her — she had no idea what Harskill really wanted.

Chapter 11

When they arrived on Reo-Koll,
the snow-covered lands reflected blue moonlight, casting a deathly pall over the world. Malja took a few steps, and each time she sunk to her calf in the cold powder. No winds and few sounds. Those she did hear dulled in the snow.

“We missed the first snowfall,” Stray said. Then he clenched his stomach, bent over, and threw up. “I don’t think I’m ever going to get used to those portals.”

Malja brought out Viper as a precaution. “Do you know where we are?” Her voice sounded loud in the still night.

Stray surveyed the area. “Dovell, most certainly. The black bark boon tree mostly grows in Dovell.”

“Can you be any more specific than an entire country?”

In three large strides, he moved to the nearest tree — a tall one that poked straight up like a black-painted sword. Though winter had started, the trees all held to their leaves. Malja wondered if leaves fell for the winter on all worlds or if some kept them all the time.

Stray climbed up the tree with plenty of grunts and heavy exhalations. A few times he swore and spat into the distance. He was in prime shape for fighting, but climbing like an animal used muscles he had not fully developed.

With her head tilted back to watch Stray, Malja put her hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “Perhaps you should use a spell to see if you can find Abrazkia. I’m not so sure that tree can hold him much longer.”

Tommy nodded but stood still. He seemed to be just as fascinated as Malja with watching a man as large as Stray climb a tree. A short time later, Stray returned, jumped from a low branch, and picked at the sap sticking to his hands.

“We’re south of Alyall. That’s the town you found us in.”

Malja raised an eyebrow towards Tommy. “I’m impressed.”

Tommy plucked at his shirt and scowled — his new sign for Harskill. Then he signed a doorway.

“Harskill’s portal. Were you able to find it somehow? Like a signal left behind by it or something?”

He nodded.

Stray pulled out one of his scimitars. “Then we’re in a good position. Let’s go.”

They trudged northward. The snow slowed their progress, but they still managed to cover quite a bit of territory. Malja’s do-kha helped her plenty, but she worried Tommy would be in trouble soon. He had not dressed for winter weather, and she had nothing to offer him. Making the situation worse, the closer they came to Alyall, the faster Stray moved.

Finally, Malja halted. When Stray looked back, she said, “I know you’re anxious to make things right for the Artisoll. I understand. But we can’t afford to burn all our energy traveling so fast. We do that and we’ll have nothing to fight with.”

“I will fight no matter what my strength.”

“That’s not in question. You’re a smart warrior. Think. Which is better — to be the army that has traveled for days and has to rush into battle, or to be the army that is relaxed, well- fed, clear-minded, and ready?”

Stray held still for a moment, displayed no sign of thought, but then slid his sword back in its scabbard. “We will slow the pace.”

Traveling onward, they spoke little, letting the forest do the speaking. Soft chirps of unseen creatures, light drips of melting snow, the constant gurgle of a gentle creek — all layered together to form a steady background of sound that Malja found both soothing and disruptive to her thoughts. Perhaps disruptive was a good thing.

Her thoughts continued to storm around Tommy. The way he doted on the Artisoll, the way she returned his smiles with her eyes — it all felt new. Tommy had been interested in many girls before, and Malja knew he had long ago discovered the physical pleasures of those relationships. But this — this had an emotional component that she had never seen Tommy experience.

I just don’t want him to get hurt.
As rapid as that thought hit her, another followed —
Why?
How could he ever learn to care for others without taking the risk of caring for others? Rejection, heartache, disappointment — they all could happen, but without the negative, Tommy would never know the positive. He would fail to recognize it directly in front of him.

For Malja, her motherly worries could be annoying, and she chided herself for these thoughts. Then the worst realization hit hard — she didn’t matter. In the past, these thoughts would swirl in her brain until she came to a conclusion, a path forward, which she would implement. Maybe it would be a sit-down chat with Tommy, maybe it would be a threat to the whore that would hurt him, maybe it would be a smack on the back of the boy’s head. But this time, the boy was a young man. He would not seek her guidance. This relationship with the Artisoll was beyond Malja’s input.

Stray crouched and waved the others over. “Trouble.”

Ahead, the ground dipped several feet. A stream crossed their path, and further in, Malja saw a crackling campfire. Two men stood over the fire with an enormous pot. They wore maroon and black uniforms. Their tall, furry hats had been dropped aside carelessly. In the flickers of firelight, the rest of the camp could be found — Malja counted at least twenty patchwork tents spread out haphazardly.

“The Bechstallon camp,” Stray said.

Staying low, Malja crept in for a closer look. The two men by the cooking pot — at least, she assumed it was for cooking — broke away and turned towards her. Shifting direction like a startled fish, she blended into the shadows behind a wide tree with low branches and prickly leaves. Pressing against the trunk, Malja discovered that even its bark was prickly.

The two men stopped. Malja tried to make out their shadows in the firelight but there were too many obstacles and the angle was so low that she only saw a spider web of thin and thick moving strands — nothing to help define where they stood. She could hear them, however. The clearness of their voices told her they stood closer than she would have liked.

“Naw, it’s crup and dollit and any other word you can think of for the load of foul-smelling kak that they’re giving us,” one man said. He had a rasp that added grit to every syllable.

“What? You don’t believe in any of this anymore? Is that it?” This one had a strange lilt to his words — a regional accent, perhaps.

“I don’t believe sleeping in the snow is gonna get us any closer to winning.”

“Oh, we’ll be winning. We’ve got the best position in the forest, we’ve got the strongest soldiers, and when we get the right to rule this world, that’s when we get the payoff.”

The rasp-voiced one snorted his disbelief. Small metal jangled followed by the rustle of clothing. A steady stream splashed against the tree bark.